


Creation

by angstytimelord



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mind Games, Will is bait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 21,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1673948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstytimelord/pseuds/angstytimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will can't let Hannibal know that his seeming transformation is part of a trap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Created Anew

Hannibal would never be able to take credit for creating him.

Will flexed his hands in front of him, wishing that he could cast aside the images of what those hands were capable of doing if he let himself go.

Of course he'd killed Randall Tier. The bastard had come after him, trying to kill him. He had defended his own life; anyone would have done the same. The man had harmed one of his dogs, and then come into his home with the intention of harming _him_.

He'd been sent by Hannibal, of course, but that didn't make Tier any less of a killer. And he didn't regret what he had done with the man's body, either.

Tier had deserved just what he'd gotten.

But at the same time, Will couldn't help feeling repulsed by his own actions. Yes, what he'd done had been necessary, in order to make Hannibal believe that he was falling under a spell, that he was transformed by all that Hannibal had done to him.

He hadn't enjoyed doing what he'd had to do; he had done it out of necessity, out of a deep-seated need to trap Hannibal, to beat him at his own game.

He and Jack were treading a thin line, playing a dangerous game, and they both knew it. If Hannibal ever came to a realization of what they were doing, he would try to kill them both. And the man had far too much practice at killing, Will thought with a grimace.

He was too good at this, too good at something that Will had no experience in. He might see into the minds of killers, but he had never been one himself.

Hannibal thought that because he _could_ see into the minds of murderers, because he had looked into the faces of pure evil so many times, that he would easily slip into that evil himself, that he would let it take him over and welcome it in.

But he wouldn't. He could never do that. He wasn't a killer.

He had to make Hannibal believe that he was, but that obviously wasn't going to be an easy thing to do. He would have to be on his guard at all times; if he let his mask slip even the slightest bit, Hannibal would see into him and know that this was all a lie.

He wasn't being transformed. He wasn't being created anew in Hannibal's image. He was simply setting a trap to catch a killer.

That trap had been carefully baited, with himself as the prize. Will knew how dangerous the path was now treading could be; he knew that he had to be wary every moment of every day, that he had to constantly look around him to be sure that he wasn't putting a foot wrong.

Being the bait in his own trap terrified him.

Will was sure that he wouldn't give in to Hannibal's blandishments; that wasn't what frightened him. He'd never be like Hannibal, not in a million years.

What frightened him was the knowledge that Hannibal was good at looking into people, at seeing through their subterfuge. And Hannibal already knew him well, so there was a good chance that he could read what was happening, and hide that knowledge from Will.

He took one deep breath, then another. As far as he could tell, Hannibal hadn't been able to do that. The trap was closing around him, just as Will and Jack had planned.

But how could he _know_ that Hannibal didn't suspect anything? He couldn't fish for answers; if he did, that would rouse Hannibal's suspicions.

He had to keep playing this game as best he could, even though he felt that he was groping his way along in the dark, trying to balance carefully on a tightrope that, with one single wrong move, could overbalance under him and send him plummeting into a deep, dark abyss.

One that he might never be able to climb out of. If he wasn't careful, he could end up being just another one in the long line of Hannibal Lecter's victims.

Hannibal already thought he was one. Hannibal thought he was transformed.

He had to make sure that Hannibal kept thinking that, had to make that monster believe that he had been created anew, that he was rising like the proverbial phoenix from the ashes. He had to make Hannibal _believe_ that he had turned ot the dark side.

He never would, of course. He knew that. Jack knew that. But Hannibal _didn't_ know that, and that was the strength of their plan to trap him.

Hannibal thought that the darkness could win anyone over. He understood that most people had a balance of light and dark within them, and he was so sure, so confident that he could turn that balance in Will, make the darkness come to the forefront.

He was so damn sure that he could mold Will into his own image.

His former friend saw him as a novitious image, something that could be shaped and molded to his own specifications, something that could be newly invented, created anew into what he wanted it to be. He didn't give Will credit for possessing his own mind.

And that was what would be his downfall, Will thought, a slight smile curving his lips. Hannibal thought that his wiles were irresistible -- but he was wrong about that.

He expected Will to come to him when he beckoned, to jump when he crooked a finger, to salivate at his feet like Pavlov's dog. Well, Hannibal Lecter would discover that he had severely underestimated Will Graham, Will told himself.

He was feeling stronger and more confident now; yes, he would have to be careful, but he and Jack would put more of their plan into motion, and they _would_ win this battle.

Good would always triumph over evil, no matter what a monster like Hannibal might think. He and Jack had the power of right on their side; Hannibal had nothing but darkness, evasions and lies. He would lose, and Will intended for hm to lose big.

He would show Hannibal just what he was made of.

He was stronger than anyone gave him credit for, including Jack Crawford. He would resist the temptation that Hannibal presented, and turn away from it.

The temptation wasn't as strong as Hannibal thought it was. The thought of becoming like him, nothing more than a conscienceless killer, repulsed Will. But he couldn't let Hannibal know that. He had to be an actor, to make Hannibal think that he was giving in.

He had to make Hannibal think that he _was_ the novitious object that he was expected to be, that he was being created anew, that he was becoming a new being.

It wouldn't be easy to do that, but somehow, he would manage it. 

He would make Hannibal believe that he was descending into darkness. Will didn't know how he'd manage to do so, or if he was a good enough actor to pull it off.

But he would try his damnedest, he vowed. For Abigail, and for Beverly, and for all of the other innocent people who had died as a result of Hannibal Lecter's unrelenting evil. He would avenge them all by seeing their killer put behind bars for good.

He would be the one to put their killer in prison. Then, and only then, would he feel that he had been able to at least partly avenge all the wrongs that Hannibal had perpetrated.

Then, he _would_ feel as though he'd been created anew.


	2. Things Better Left Unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is fully aware of all the dangers that exist in his plan to capture Hannibal, but he knows that he has no choice other than to move ahead.

It was so hard to keep quiet, to hold his emotions inside.

Will wanted to tell Hannibal exactly what he thought of him, how much he hated what this monster wanted him to become. He wanted to shout, to scream, to tell the truth.

But he couldn't do that. As much as he wanted to spit those words out, to fling them into Hannibal's face, he knew that there was no way he could do so. He had to keep to his plan, had to follow along with what he and Jack had decided to do.

The best way to trap Hannibal was to make him think that he was gettin what he wanted, and what he wanted was Will's soul on a silver platter.

His real feelings about all of this had to remain unsaid.

The only person he could talk to was Jack, and even then, he didn't think it was possible to make his boss understand the repugnance he felt.

Just looking at Hannibal made him want to take a few steps back; he couldn't stand to be around the other man, and he couldn't help but wonder if Hannibal sensed that tension in him. It hadn't been there before; at least, he didn't _think_ it had.

But Hannibal would more than likely put it down to the fact that it should take Will a while to trust him fully again. Will hoped that was how his thoughts would go.

Of course, he was _never_ going to trust Hannibal again. That was impossible. He'd been a fool to _ever_ think that such a monster was trustworthy; his senses had always told him that something was wrong with Hannibal, he just hadn't known precisely what it was.

Now that he did, it was too late to save far too many of Hannibal victims, he thought sadly. But at least he might be able to save any future victims from the same fate.

That would make everything he had to deal with worth it.

Just knowing that he could save others, knowing that he could do some good for people, would get him through all of this. He _would_ defeat Hannibal and see him behind bars; he _would_ get justice for all of those victims.

It would probably be one of the hardest things he'd ever done, but Will was sure that he could make himself rise to the challenge.

After all, he had right on his side, he told himself firmly. Hannibal was a criminal, a monster. He had been allowed to perpetrate his crimes for far too long; he'd gotten away with them for years with no one being the wiser. Well, it was time for that to end.

It was time for Hannibal to discover that he wasn't omnipotent.

That was where Hannibal would make his fatal mistake, Will mused. He was too sure of himself; he thought that he couldn't be caught, or be stopped.

Well, he was wrong about that. Will and Jack were going to take him down, and even though Will wasn't thrilled with the idea of using himself as bait, he knew that there was no other way. It was the best chance they had of capturing Hannibal and putting him in prison.

Hannibal was focused on him, and if he was what that monster wanted, then they had to focus on giving him what he wanted -- to an extent.

If he wanted Will, then he had no choice but to play the bait.

There was so much he would have to remember, so much that he would have to cover up and hold back. It wasn't going to be easy, and Will had his doubts about the plan.

It was _his_ plan, but he had to admit that he didn't have all the kinks completely ironed out yet. He wasn't sure just what he would do, or where this would take them. He just knew that he had to get Hannibal to make some kind of confession, to talk about what he'd done.

Then he could arrest the bastard, in his capacity as an FBI agent. That was the only that they would be able to trap him. They had no other choice.

Still, getting Hannibal to talk about his crimes wasn't going to be easy. The man was far too canny, and too cautious. He wouldn't simply start talking out of nowhere.

He would hold things back, only refer to them obliquely. Will was sure of that. He knew Hannibal too well to think that he would simply sit back and talk about all that he'd done, or even brag about it. He might be one of the most arrogant people Will knew, but he was also circumspect.

Even in his pride and hubris, he would still be cautious. Will would have to make Hannibal trust him, to draw out those confidences a little at a time.

The problem was, he didn't know how much time they would have.

He might not have enough time to wait for Hannibal to take him into his confidence. He might have to try to push things, and that could prove to be dangerous.

But even if it _was_ dangerous, again, he didn't have a choice. He couldn't wait forever for Hannibal to feel comfortable enough to talk about his crimes; he had to get that confession fairly quickly, or Jack would start to get antsy and call the whole thing off.

Not only that, but there were some things that he didn't want to talk to Hannibal about. He didn't want to open up as he had before all of this had happened.

He could no longer trust Hannibal with any of his own secrets.

Not that he'd ever really trusted the other man with many of them, Will told himself, thinking back over their past sessions. He had always been wary of Hannibal; even though he'd begun to open up and tell the other man more about himself, he still hadn't trusted him completely.

And that had turned out to be a very good thing, hadn't it? Will thought with a sigh. Hannibal had proven that he _couldn't_ be trusted, not for one second.

It was bad enough that Hannibal had been inside his head as much as he had, that he had managed to form a working knowledge of Will's psyche. That had been his intention all along, hadn't it? To get inside Will's head, to brainwash him into being something he wasn't.

Hannibal was insidious in that respect.

That was something Will didn't want the two of them to talk about once they resumed their sessions. It was something that could be passed over, that didn't need discussion.

Hannibal knew what he had done -- and Will wanted him to know that _he_ was aware of it, as well. He wanted Hannibal to know that this time, he was going up against someone who wouldn't capitulate to his will so easily, someone who would fight back.

But he also had to give the _impression_ that he was being seduced into being what Hannibal wanted him to become. That wasn't going to be easy for him to pull off.

He wondered if he could do it -- but he _had_ to. He had to keep quiet about his real feelings, to pass over some subjects in silence and to completely dissemble in others. He wouldn't really have anyone who he could share his innermost feelings with. Not now.

Not that he'd been able to do that with Hannibal before, not really. He'd shared things to a point, but he had always pulled back before he'd felt that he was revealing too much.

He could be cautious and canny, too. And so far, he had been.

There had been good reason for him to be that way, Will thought with a grim smile. Something had told him that he'd be glad in the future of not telling Hannibal everything.

Now, he would do what he had to do to put Hannibal where he belonged. He had the bare bones of a plan, and he was refining it with Jack. First and foremost, he had to get back into Hannibal's good graces -- even though he wondered if he had ever left them.

The first order or business was to get Hannibal to trust him, just as Hannibal had tried to do with him. It didn't seem as though it would be an easy thing to do.

But he had to try. No, not just _try_. He had to _succeed_.

There were so many things he wouldn't be able to talk about. So many things that it would be better to pass over in silence, avoiding topics that could be dangerous. Too many things that he had to remember to avoid, things that could get him into trouble if he wasn't careful.

He just hoped that he could remember them all.

The last thing he could afford to do was to give Hannibal any inkling of what he and Jack were planning. He had to believe this, had to fall for it hook, line, and sinker.

If his nemesis didn't believe his act, Will told himself, then he -- and maybe Jack as well -- were as good as dead. If Hannibal couldn't be brought to believe that Will was changing and transforming, falling under his spell, then there could be a fatal ending.

The thought made him shudder. He _had_ to get this right -- and he had only one chance to do it. One gamble, one chance to hit a home run out of the ballpark.

Whether he could do it or not remained to be seen.


	3. More Than You Realize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will realizes that he'll have to tread carefully to keep his real feelings hidden from Hannibal.

"We are much more alike than you realise, Will."

Hannibal's words almost sent a shudder through Will. He didn't want to be anything like this monster; it was hard enough to _pretend_ to be like him.

Trying to convince Hannibal that he was turning into a killer, that he was transforming from a decent human being into a conscienceless monster, was going to be the best piece of acting he'd ever done. Will wasn't sure that he was up to the challenge.

But he had to be, he reminded himself. He was deep in it now; if he didn't dissemble to the best of his ability, then his life could very well be forfeit.

This _thing_ that was standing in front of him wasn't a man. It was a monster, a killer. He had to be very careful that he _didn't_ let himself slip and fall into that abyss of Hannibal's making, even though he was sure that he'd be tempted to at some point.

It would be so easy to let himself become like Hannibal, to eschew all responsibility for anything he did and to embrace that evil.

But he wouldn't do it. That wasn't who he was.

He would never be like Hannibal, and he was _proud_ of that fact. He was nothing like this monster; he was a good man, and he always would be.

Still, he knew from experience just how tempting the darkness could be. He'd let himself sink into it when he had looked through the eyes of killers; he'd known how comfortable it could be to let go of who he was, to let that darkness envelop him.

It was terrifying to think that he was capable of doing that, frightening to think that he could _could_ go so far as to let himself feel that Hannibal was a kindred spirit.

That was exactly what he had to caution himself against.

Feeling any kind of empathy for Hannibal was ridiculous. He couldn't let himself see things from Hannibal's point of view, couldn't let himself wonder what it was like to be in the other man's mind, what his life had been like. He couldn't empathize. Not at all.

That would be the first step on a long and slippery slope, one that would eventually land him in a black hole that there would be no escaping from.

He couldn't let that happen. He would somehow have to make Hannibal believe that he was falling under a spell, that he was changing, without actually letting himself be caught up in that change. He would have to be sure to stay a few steps back, observing but not interacting.

This was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever tried to do.

Hannibal's next words jolted him out of his thoughts, and back to the present moment. "I believe that your time in prison was good for you, Will. It made you think about us."

Good for him? Will felt a surge of anger sweep over him, so strong that he almost turned and leveled a fist at Hannibal's smug, ugly face. This bastard thought prison had been _good_ for him? Would he say the same if it had been _him_ behind those bars?

Of course he wouldn't. But then again, Hannibal was more than likely silently congratulating himself for all that he had accomplished in turning Will's life upside down.

He swallowed his anger, tamped down on it, tried to hide it.

He couldn't let Hannibal see that anger. If he did, then the game was already over before it had started. He had to make Hannibal think that he bore him no ill will.

That ws a lie, of course. He bore this monster nothing _but_ ill will; he wanted to see Hannibal in the same position that he himself had been in so recently, behind bars, deprived of his freedom, with no hope of release. He wanted Hannibal to feel that same hopelessness.

He would, in time, Will reassured himself. This creature would get everything that was coming to him, even if it took a little time for that to happen.

He would see to that. The threads of the spider's web were already being woven around Hannibal; in time, he would become caught in that web, unable to escape from it.

He swallowed back his angry words, trying to keep his reply measured and quiet. "Maybe it was," he said, surprised at how calm he sounded when he spoke. "I had a lot of time to think about my accusations. All of them were wrong. I can see that now."

"Can you, Will?" Hannibal's voice was soft, but there was a slight tone of menace underneath his words. "I hope that's true. You need to see things more clearly."

Oh, he saw things clearly, all right. His vision was now crystal-clear.

He knew that this monster had set him up to take the fall for _his_ crimes; he had never doubted that. He just couldn't let Hannibal know that he still bore a grudge.

Was he a good enough actor to make Hannibal believe that he'd had a complete mental turnaround? Was that the way to play this? Or should he let Hannibal know that he still believed in his guilt, but that he was willing to reach out for that darkness?

He had to make Hannibal believe that he had been seduced by the darkness within him. That would be the only believable way to play this, to gain Hannibal's trust.

And there was no time like the present to start doing that.

"I know you had to save yourself," he began, speaking slowly, as though he wasn't sure of entirely how to form the words. "I guess I can't blame you for that. But don't think I'm such a fool as to think you weren't responsible for all of it, Hannibal."

Hannibal raised a brow, his dark eyes glinting. Will was sure that he could see a trace of humor in those dark depths, and he had to tamp down on his anger again.

This wasn't funny. Nothing about the situation he'd been in was amusing, though of course, it made sense for Hannibal to see it that way. To him, it _was_ amusing that someone else had been imprisoned for crimes he had committed. Once again, he'd gotten away with it.

But not again, Will vowed silently. Never again.

Hannibal wasn't going to be able to harm innocent people again. Somehow, he would make sure of that. He would keep Hannibal from committing any more murders.

If they were lucky, then Hannibal would become so caught up in being sure that Will was becoming just like him that he would turn away from his murderous intentions for a while. All Will had to do was convince him of that transformation, and keep him occupied.

And, of course, he had to keep Hannibal from expecting him to commit any murders himself. He couldn't do that. He couldn't let himself become like this monster.

If Hannibal expected that of him, then they'd cross that bridge when they came to it.

"Of course I was responsible for you being in jail, Will," Hannibal said, his voice steady and even. "You've always known that. But I had good reasons for doing so."

"To save yourself," Will prompted him, hoping that Hannibal would say more, that he would keep going, that he would confess all that he had done. That would make things so easy; if he had some kind of confession, then he would be able to arrest Hannibal right here and now.

But no .... that would be _too_ easy. And Hannibal might still be able to slip through the net and evade justice. No, he needed more than this.

He needed Hannibal to admit to what he was -- a murderer and a cannibal. He needed Hannibal to say out loud that he _was_ the Chesapeake Ripper, that he had murdered dozens, maybe even hundreds, of innocent people -- and eaten parts of their bodies.

Only then would they have all the evidence that they needed to put this monster away for good. He had to be patient, to wait until that happened.

He had to gain Hannibal's trust. That was the first step.

"Would you like for me to enumerate all the ways in which we are kindred, Will?" Hannibal continued, his gaze fixed on Will's face. "I can do so, if you'd like to hear them."

But Will shook his head, not yet quite ready to deal with those words. "I don't think we're as much alike as you'd like to believe we are," he told Hannibal, meeting the other man's gaze with one that he hoped was bland and indifferent, keeping his voice level. "But we'll see."

It had started now. The game was afoot, and it was a game that Will intended to win. If he was able to be patient enough, he would be the victor in the end.

He just had to be sure not to make any fatal missteps.

And that, he told himself, might be harder than he thought it would be. But he would do his best to avoid making any overt mistakes.

He would have to tread very carefully from here on out. He'd already stuck a toe in to test the waters, so to speak, and now he was beginning to wade out into those waters, finding them navigable. He just hoped that he wouldn't run into any dangerous undercurrents.

It would be all too for him to be caught up in those currents, to get swept out to sea, and never be able to find his way back to safe, dry land again.

The danger might be far more potent than he had imagined.


	4. Unexpected Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is disturbed by some of the changes that Hannibal has wrought in him.

All of this had changed him in ways he hadn't expected.

He couldn't allow any more changes to happen. If he did, then he would lose himself.

Will had to admit that the siren song of Hannibal's evil might be seductive to some people, and maybe it even called to a deeply buried darkness within him.

But everything he was, everything he believe in, rebelled against that siren's call. He could never become what Hannibal was; he could never be a killer. Hannibal obviously wanted that; this monster wanted Will to be just like him, evil and conscienceless.

He'd never given in to that, no matter what wiles Hannibal might attempt to use on him. Just the idea of letting himself be caught up in that kind of evil turned his stomach.

Still, he had to make Hannibal _believe_ that he was changing.

He had to convince Hannibal that he had completely turned around while he was in prison; that he'd thrown off his mantle of morality and embraced evil.

That kind of change would never happen within him; his sense of right and wrong, good and evil, was too deeply ingrained in his psyche. He could never do what Hannibal did; he could never push his morality aside and make up excuses for inexcusable crimes.

Convincing Hannibal that he had changed enough to do just that would be the hardest thing he'd ever done, but somehow, he would manage it.

Taking a deep breath, he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror; his own face stared back ad him, pale and serious, looking the same as he did every morning.

No, it wasn't exactly the same. There was something different about his eyes now, something determined and grim that had never been there before. Since the morning he'd first been taken off to jail, he _had_ changed, in innumerable ways.

As much as he hated to admit it, Hannibal _had_ changed him. Never again would he be able to trust in a friendship, or not be suspicious of other people's motives.

He'd become even more paranoid, and less trusting.

Maybe that was a good thing, in some ways. After all, in his line of work, it was good not to be too trusting with anyone, even with one's colleagues.

But he had to trust _someone_ , at some point. He couldn't put his life on the line without trusting that there would be people who had his back, people like Jack who would be there when he needed them. That was how Hannibal had irrevocably changed him.

That change definitely _wasn't_ for the better. In his own way, Hannibal had marked him, even though that change in Will wasn't the one that he'd wanted to take place.

It was a change that Will didn't like, but it was far too late to turn back now.

He hoped that any other changes wouldn't be as noticeable -- or as disturbing.


	5. House of Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It won't be easy for Will to keep acting as though he's becoming what Hannibal wants him to be.

Will looked around him, breathing a sigh of relief.

He and Freddie had played their parts well; he wondered if somehow Hannibal could have been watching, if he had seen everything that had happened.

That was why they had decided to make sure they played out their plan, why they'd tried to make everything look as real as possible, just in case Hannibal had been following him and might have seen all that had taken place. Btu now, that didn't seem to be a possibility.

Or maybe that was just because he didn't want anyone to see what he had supposedly done, even if it _was_ all an act with no reality to it.

He hated to think about what he had appeared to do; it was so foreign to who he was that he couldn't imagine himself actually going through with it. Killing a person wasn't something that he ever wanted to have on his conscience; he didn't think he could ever take a life.

Well, he _had_ taken a life before, to save another life. But Garrett Jacob Hobbs had bee a murderer; he was going to kill his own daughter.

He didn't regret taking that life. He'd done it for the right reasons.

He and Freddie had put on this show to capture Hannibal, to lure him into a trap that he wouldn't be able to squirm his way out of.

This was only phase one, he cautioned himself. This had been the easiest part, really; the harder parts of their plan would come later, when he had to act and convince Hannibal that he was turning into a killer, that he was becoming exactly like Hannibal himself.

That was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done. Even though he knew what it was like to be inside a killer's mind, it would be extremely difficult to act like one.

But he didn't have a choice in the matter.

He was the only one who could do this, the only one who could make the plan to flush Hannibal out into the open work. Hannibal didn't want anyone else as a protégé, he only wanted Will. And in this instance, they had to give the bastard what he wanted.

So he had to force himself to pretend that Hannibal was his friend, that he accepted a monster as a mentor, that he was on Hannibal's side.

He had to try to pretend that he was turning into something so foreign from his true nature that it made his skin crawl just to think about it.

If he didn't, then more people would die -- and he would feel that those deaths were on _his_ watch, that they weighed heavily on his conscience, simply because he hadn't been able to implement the plan that he himself had come up with.

He had to force himself to act like Hannibal, as distasteful as it was.

The thought of becoming a killer, of being anything like Hannibal, was enough to turn his stomach. That was the last thing he would _ever_ be.

Yet he somehow had to convince Hannibal that he was becoming a killer, that he was mesmerized by the way that Hannibal went about it, that he _wanted_ to learn. He had to make his nemesis believe that he had shed all of his morals, all of his beliefs.

That wouldn't be easy for him to do; he'd never thought he was that good at dissembling. But he would force himself to do it, no matter how difficult it was for him.

He would do it for Abigail, and for all of Hannibal's other victims.

And he would also be doing it for _himself_. This would be his ultimate payback for all that Hannibal had done to him, for every wrong that he'd suffered.

Hannibal would end up behind bars, where he had always belonged. He would never be able to hurt another person, never be able to deceive anyone again. No one would ever suffer as Will had suffered, as the friends and families of Hannibal's victims had suffered.

Will's head jerked up as he got into his car; was that a flash of movement he'd seen amongst the trees in the woods? Was someone there, watching him?

Could it possibly be _Hannibal_ in the woods? Could that monster have seen everything that had taken place, that macabre scenario that he and Freddie had played out for his benefit? If that was the case, then it hadn't been a wasted effort.

He sincerely hoped that if it _was_ Hannibal, the bastard wouldn't go into that barn. If he did, there was a good chance that their plan would go awry.

He closed the door and started the engine, closing his eyes for a moment.

So far, everything had gone according to plan. Hannibal was starting to believe in his ruse; he was sure of it. Now he just had to keep it up, to make the monster believe that _he_ was becoming the same kind of monster, that they were kindred spirits.

If he couldn't, the whole house of cards would come tumbling down around them.


	6. Life in A Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It will be a sweet revenge for Will to finally see Hannibal behind bars where he belongs.

Hannibal was an animal that had to be stopped.

He had to keep telling himself that over and over again. He had to keep looking at Hannibal as being an utterly soulless, heartless non-human.

That was the only way he would be able to keep from thinking about the times when he and Hannibal had been friends. Or at least _seemed_ to be friends, he told himself sharply. Hannibal had never been his friend. Not really. There hadn't been true understanding between them.

Hannibal had only been manipulating him for his own ends, using him as a kind of experiment to see whether he would bend or break. Nothing more.

There had been no real friendship. Not ever.

That was why it had hurt so much to realize that Hannibal had been the one to frame him, the one who had made his life a living hell.

He'd thought for a while that he would never be able to find his way out of that waking nightmare, but he had. And now, he was going to free himself from Hannibal's influence once and for all -- by making Hannibal believe that he was still under that influence.

In reality, he would be working to bring about Hannibal's ultimate downfall.

It was a sweet kind of irony, to know that he would trap Hannibal by playing to the man's own delusions of grandeur, his own need for an acolyte.

Hannibal would be captured, caught, trapped with nowhere to turn, nowhere to run. Will smiled grimly at the idea. The bastard would be hoist by his own petard.

No one deserved to tumble from their high perch more richly than such a deceiver.

He would think that he was gaining a disciple, someone who he could mesmerize into doing as he wished, but what he would really be gaining was his own destruction, the loss of his freedom and reputation. Which would be a wonderful revenge for Will.

That animal deserved every bit of the disgust that would be leveled at him when people found out just what he was, Will told himself. He deserved nothing but scorn.

He deserved to spend the rest of his life in a cage.

After all, that was where a feral animal belonged, wasn't it? And that was exactly what Hannibal was. An animal who was good for nothing but killing.

Had he ever really helped anyone during his career as a so-called psychiatrist? Will didn't think so. All that he had done was screw people's heads up even more than they already were -- and convince some people to kill for him, and cover up his own crimes.

Well, no more of that. Hannibal _would_ be caught, and he _would_ pay for those crimes. The day that he was put behind bars would be a good day for the world.

And Will himself would be able to rest a great deal easier.


	7. Shadow on the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will isn't sure that he's a good enough actor to make Hannibal believe that he's turning into a monster.

This might very well be the most dangerous thing he'd ever tried to do.

Making Hannibal believe that he was turning into a monster wasn't going to be easy, and Will doubted that he had the acting ability to pull it off.

But he had to try. If he didn't, then he and Jack would lose their best chance to catch Hannibal, to make him admit to the things that he'd done so that Will could arrest him. This might be the only way of finally putting him behind bars, where he belonged.

Will wasn't going to turn his back on that chance. He _wanted_ to see Hannibal in jail, wanted him put away where he could never harm anyone again.

Doing that wouldn't be easy, but they would manage it somehow. He just had to be good enough at what he was doing to make Hannibal actually _believe_ that he was changing. He should be able to do that. He was good at dissembling, always had been.

But Hannibal was good at seeing behind masks, ripping away veneers to expose what was underneath. It was more or less his job, after all.

And Will wasn't sure that this _wouldn't_ change him, in some ways.

He didn't want to change. He didn't want to be anything like Hannibal. It made him feel queasy and sick to think that he could ever do the things that Hannibal did.

Yet he was going to have to pretend that he could do those things -- and what was more, he'd have to act as though he actually _enjoyed_ them. That was the part that he wasn't sure he could pull off; it might be too much for him, in the end.

He was going to try his best, but he couldn't help but wonder if his best was going to be good enough. He'd have to be _really_ good to fool Hannibal.

Hannibal was a psychiatrist, and it was his business to get inside people's minds and find out what made them tick. That monster had been inside _his_ mind -- so much so that he'd managed to mess it up and cross and lot of wires pretty well.

But he was recovering from that now, Will told himself firmly. He was getting past what Hannibal had done to him, and in time, he _would_ be abel to push all of that away.

Hannibal didn't control him. He had no influence any longer.

There were times when he wondered just how far under Hannibal's evil influence he might have fallen, if it had all kept going down the path it had been on.

That path had been cut short when Hannibal had framed him to save his own skin. That was when Will had _known_ , beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Hannibal had never been his friend, that he had always been nothing more than a means to an end.

He was an experiment to Hannibal, just another victim to be used and thrown away when that bastard was done with him. Their friendship had been nothing but a lie.

Well, he had to keep perpetuating that lie now, to make Hannibal believe that he wanted to renew that false friendship. He had to seem as sincere as he possibly could.

Will shoved his hands into his pockets, scowling up at the moon that illuminated the sky. Usually, he felt a little solace from walking out in the woods around his house under the light of the moon, but tonight, doing this only brought more questions into his mind.

He wanted to be sure about what he and Jack were doing, but he wasn't. He didn't know if this would work, even though he wanted to believe with every fiber of his being that it would.

He wasn't sure about much of anything any more.

The only thing he _was_ sure of was that Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper -- and that he had been _eating_ the bodies of his victims.

Hannibal was utterly repulsive to him now, as much as he had once been fascinating and almost, in a way, seductive. All he wanted to do was run from the evil that Hannibal represented, but he couldn't do that now. He had to stick around and see his plan through to the end.

A shadow passed over the moon, making Will look up again. The bright illumination had disappeared; he was now surrounded by pitch darkness.

There were still a few stars in the sky, twinkling high overhead, but they couldn't show him his way home. Well, he didn't really need that, did he? Will asked himself. He knew how to get home from the path he was on; he'd walked this way hundreds of times.

Still, the fact that the shadow on the moon had taken away all the light from the night sky, save for those tiny pinpricks of stars, felt ominous, like a foreshadowing.

That thought made him shiver and look around himself nervously.

Maybe it was time he got back home, fed the dogs, made himself something to eat, and settled down with a book. Or even a movie, or a tv show.

Will doubted that he would be able to sleep much tonight; he had too much on his mind, too many thoughts whirling through his brain, traveling far too fast for him to keep up with them. His mind was working overtime, and he didn't think it would slow down any time soon.

He needed to get back to the house, but he would wait for a few moments longer and see if the shadow on the moon would move on. He hoped that it would.

When it did, only a few seconds later, Will felt his heart lift. It was like some kind of cosmic sign that the shadow on his own soul would soon lift, that they would be able to snare Hannibal in a trap that he wouldn't be able to escape from, and all of this would be over soon.

He turned to head back to the house, a new hope surfacing within him. He and Jack _would_ make this work, and they _would_ succeed in their objective.

Hannibal's days of freedom were numbered.


	8. The Dark Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will feels as though he's being pulled into an alternate universe where his dark side will take him over.

"There is so much more to who you are than you realise, Will." The words were soft, enticing.

"Is there, Hannibal?" Will hated the sound of his own voice; he hated saying the words. He hated feeling as if he were an actor in a play.

He felt as though he was inhabiting some kind of alternate universe every time he was around Hannibal now; he had to slip out of himself, become someone else. And he didn't like the person that Hannibal wanted him to be, the mask he had to put on. Not at all.

But this was the only way to catch Hannibal, he reminded himself. This was the only way they would bring him down and put him behind bars, in his proper place.

He had to keep up this act, and he had to be good at it.

"Of course there is," Hannibal told him, raising an eyebrow. "You know that everyone is an amalgam of light and darkness. You simply don't let yourself access your dark side."

"That dark side isn't going to do me any good," Will said with a shrug. "It doesn't help me in my job, and it doesn't help me become a better person, even if it does give me .... satisfaction," he finished, making the word sound almost like a question. "Sometimes."

"Only sometimes, Will?" Hannibal asked, his voice very soft. "I would venture to guess that the darkness in you gives you more satisfaction than you care to admit."

Will shrugged, trying to give off an air of nonchalance that he didn't feel. "It does now, but that doesn't mean I'm going to wallow in it."

There. That should give Hannibal something to think about. Will hoped that he was giving the impression of sinking into that dark side, albeit reluctantly; Hannibal had to believe that his primal beliefs were changing, that he was becoming the monster Hannibal wanted him to be.

Of course, it wasn't true, and it never would be. But making Hannibal believe that it was so was integral to their plan to put him behind bars.

Will was less sure every day that he could carry this off.

But he had to, he told himself. Even though he felt more and more as though he was falling into some kind of alternate universe, he couldn't stop.

If he did, their best hope of catching Hannibal would go down the tubes, and he couldn't risk that. They _had_ to bring this monster to justice; he needed that closure for himself, as well as for all the other victims of his heinous crimes.

So he had to keep doing this, for as long as it took. And he had to hope that he could somehow manage to convince Hannibal that he was being turned to that dark side.

He could only hope that this alternate universe wouldn't swallow him alive.


	9. Devoured By the Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is afraid to release the darkness that he struggles to keep hidden within himself.

He couldn't let Hannibal devour him.

Will shuddered at the thought; he knew that it was a double entendre for what Hannibal would do to him if he realized that Will was playing a game, stringing him along.

The word "devour" only had the most horrifying connotations when it came to Hannibal Lecter. Will knew what he was; he kne that the man he was toying with killed and ate people, and that he was playing with fire by placing himself in this situation.

But it was the only way to capture Hannibal, he told himself. The only way to get him to confess to at least some of the murders he had committed.

He had to make Hannibal think that he was embracing his dark side.

If that meant letting Hannibal believe that he was being devoured by that darkness, then he had to keep up the act. He couldn't let himself turn away now.

He was close. _So close._ There had been several times when he'd thought that Hannibal would say those damning words, that he would tell Will about some of the killings, give Will a reason to arrest him and finally bring all of this to an end.

So far, that hadn't happened. There had been times when he was sure that Hannibal was maddeningly close to confessing, but the words hadn't slipped out.

And now, the longer that the intimate spins and twirls of this dance went on, the more he felt that he was being slowly devoured by the darkness inside of him.

Hannibal was right, Will mused. He had a definite dark side, one that he had struggled to keep down for all of his life. But now, it was beginning to come to the surface, and Will had to wonder just how much longer he would be able to hold it back.

Hannibal brought out the worst in him -- as he did in anyone. It was becoming harder and harder to hold that darkness at bay, to keep it from taking over.

If he let that happen, then he would be no better than Hannibal.

Oh, he wouldn't go out and commit conscienceless murders, but he would unleash that darkness within his soul, a darkness that had no business being in the world.

That darkness might not be capable of the same kind of evil that Hannibal perpetrated, but it could be a danger nonetheless. Will didn't want to let that dark side come out; he had always struggled to subdue it, and he wasn't going to risk giving it any freedom.

He had already done that, at least a little, by sending a killer after Hannibal. It had been the wrong thing to do, and he regretted the attempt.

Now that the darkness in him had tasted freedom, it wanted to devour him more than ever.


	10. Going Through Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The changes that Will is dealing with aren't the ones that Hannibal might expect.

Will leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Hannibal as the other man prepared dinner.

He knew that this was chicken he was going to be eating -- he'd made sure of that by bringing it over himself. Hannibal had accepted it with what appeared to be good grace, smiling as he took the food.

"Thank you for bringing dinner, Will. It is appreciated. It would have been terribly rude of me to go out grocery shopping while you were here, as I did not have chicken in the house." He set the food on the counter, going to the cabinets and taking out what looked to be jars of spices.

"Always glad to be of service," Will told him with a slight smile, wondering if the other man was cognizant of all the hidden meanings behind his words.

He never really knew with Hannibal, did he? It seemed that every move they made, every word they said, was some kind of intricate dance, one that he was never fully sure that he knew the steps of. One day, Will told himself with an inward sigh, he was going to stumble in that dance and fall -- and what would happen then?

He didn't want to think about that. The day that he stumbled and fell would probably end up being the last day of his life -- a day that he didn't want to arrive any time soon.

When it did, he hoped that he would be prepared to stand and fight.

But for the moment, that day was still a long while away -- or at least he hoped so. For now, he had to concentrate on trying to get Hannibal to talk about his crimes, to trap him.

That was proving to be one of the hardest things he'd ever tried to do, he thought as he leaned back against the counter and silently watched the other man work. Hannibal almost seemed to _know_ what he was doing, to have some idea of the fact that Will wasn't exactly as he appeared to be.

Was that possible? Could Hannibal actually know that Will was trying to lead him into a trap, and be carefully sidestepping every lure that Will tried to throw out to catch him?

No, he didn't think so. He hadn't given Hannibal any reason to believe that he hadn't turned towards the darkness within himself, that he wasn't gradually moving towards the place that Hannibal obviously wanted him to be. He had been very careful about that; he was sure that Hannibal had no idea of his real feelings.

Hannibal was arrogant enough to believe that his influence was taking Will over, that he was exerting a power that Will couldn't resist. And that, Will told himself, would be the monster's downfall.

His pride was going to trip him up, and Will would be there to see him fall.

He'd thought about this all the time that he was in that horrible so-called "hospital," dreamed about bringing Hannibal down for nearly every hour of every day.

It was all he'd had to keep him going, and he had let his mind wrap around the idea of taking that revenge to the point whree it was all that he'd been able to think about. He hadn't been able to concentrate on anything else; revenge had filled him to the point where he had started to wonder if he was any better than the criminals he put away.

Yes, he was, Will told himself firmly. Of course he was. He wasn't looking for revenge just for what Hannibal had done to him. He wanted closure, for all of Hannibal's victims, not just for himself.

He _had_ to find justice, for all of them. He _had_ to succeed in making Hannibal confess, and putting him behind bars. He owed it to all of those people.

His own revenge wasn't nearly as important as finding closure for all of the families of those victims, the people who'd had someone they loved cruelly ripped away from them. He was still here, still living and breathing. He hadn't lost as much as those people had. He still had his life, and he would use that to good advantage.

Of course, if Hannibal realized his deception, he would very likely try to kill him -- which was why he had to be on his guard, and not let himself slip up and make a mistake if he could possibly help it.

That would be more easily said than done, he thought with a slight grimace.

"Will? Are you all right?" Hannibal was staring at him, a slight frown on his face. "You look as though you're thinking some very dark thoughts. Is there anything that you would care to share?"

Will shook his head, feeling a little dazed. That was one mistake that he couldn't afford to make, he told himself sternly. He couldn't get lost in his own thoughts while he was around Hannibal; the other man might not be able to tell what he was thinking, but he could certainly see that something was wrong from his facial expressions.

He couldn't let Hannibal have even the slightest inkling that he wasn't falling under that spell the other man was trying to wrap around him. He had to stick to his plan, keep up his deception.

That deception would be the only way to catch Hannibal, the only way to bring him to justice. He had to fool this man, to make him believe that he was melding into Hannibal's darkness, that he was accepting it for himself. If he couldn't do that, then he might very well end up dead, which, to him, would serve no purpose whatsoever.

Dead was the last thing he wanted to be. He wouldn't let himself end up like Hannibal's other victims. No, he would be a survivor -- and he would be the one to bring this monster to justice.

It wouldn't be easy, but then, nothing worth doing ever was.

"I'm okay," he said, giving Hannibal a smile as he raised the bottle of water in his hand to his lips and took a sip. "Just thinking of .... all that's in the future. All that I need to learn, and the things I need to get used to."

The satisfied, smug smile on Hannibal's face told him that he'd said the right words, the words that Hannibal had wanted to hear, whether he had expected them or not. "That's good to know, Will. I was a bit worried that you were starting to look backwards into the past, rather than forward, to the future."

"I won't do that," Will said softly, knowing that every word out of his mouth was a lie even as he spoke them. "The past is over and done. I'm a different person now."

"And you will change even more as time goes by," Hannibal said, his voice very soft. Will could almost _feel_ the seductive tendrils that those words sent out, trying to wrap around him and draw him into something that he didn't want, something dark and dangerous that his very soul recoiled from.

He only smiled at Hannibal, nodding as though he agreed, even as he inwardly pulled away. "I'm sure I will," he murmured, taking another sip of his water.

Any changes that took place wouldn't be the ones that Hannibal might expect.

Oh, he was going through some changes, all right. Just as he'd been through changes when he was in prison. But those changes had only hardened his resolve to do what was just, what was right.

In the end, those changes would be the ones _he_ wanted to effect, and not the ones that Hannibal wanted. In the end, he would be the winner in this game, if it was the last thing he ever did.


	11. No Hiding Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal feels that it will be a challenge to mold and shape Will into what he wants him to become without forfeiting the innocence he still retains.

Will was changing. It was taking some time, but it was happening.

Hannibal glanced at the young man across the table, smiling blandly when Will gazed back at him. Those blue eyes held not a trace of guile; he looked sweet and innocent.

But Hannibal knew that Will Graham was anything but innocent. Everything that he had gone through recently had taken whatever innocence he still possessed and beaten it senseless.

Innocence corrupted, he mused. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing; a part of him didn't want Will to change that much. His innocence had always been something that Hannibal treasured; he didn't want this young man to lose the last vestige of something that made him unique.

Will's innocence had been one of the things that had drawn Hannibal to him. When they had first met, it seemed amazing to him that Will could still retrain so much of that innocence.

With the horrible things that he saw on an almost daily basis, Hannibal would have though that any innocence Will could have possessed at one time would have been long gone. But it wasn't.

That innocence made Will .... endearing.

There was something about the way this young man looked at the world, and the people in it, that Hannibal found fascinating. In spite of all that he saw, he hadn't given up on people.

Hannibal knew that himself had done so long ago. He no longer believed in the innate goodness of the human race, if he ever had done so. He didn't think that he had.

He, too, had seen too much -- but instead of retaining his own innocence, he had thrown it away, buried it deep, and never wanted to see it or ever refer to it again. It was better that way. His innocence was long dead, and he didn't want it back. He had no use for it.

But Will .... he was completely different. His innocence was something that Hannibal treasured, even prized. He didn't want to see it disappear as his own had.

He couldn't say just _why_ it was so important to him that retained at least some of that innocence -- it simply _was_. Will shouldn't lose something that was so intrinsic to who he was.

Though, alas, Hannibal could sense that a part of that innocence had already been destroyed -- as his own hands. He regretted that, but he _did_ have to break some eggs to make the proverbial omelet. And though more of Will's innocence would fall victim, he hoped that it wouldn't be completely obliterated.

It would be a challenge to lead Will down the path that he wanted the young man to be on, yet still make sure that he could maintain some of that innocent outlook.

Would it be possible to do that? Hannibal couldn't help smiling at the thought. It would be interesting to find out just how much of that sweet innocence Will would manage to hold on to.

"What are you smiling at?" Will asked, one eyebrow raised in question.

Hannibal took a moment to answer, his words coming slowly when he spoke. "Oh, merely thinking about our future, and how the changes that you're going through will affect you."

Will looked intrigued, then amused. "I'm only tapping into what's been inside me for a long time. That's not going to change me too much. At least, not outwardly."

"That may be true," Hannibal conceded. "I don't believe that the changes you're experiencing inwardly will show on the outside. I think that you and I will be the only people who are aware of those changes, Will. You're becoming quite good at dissembling and hiding your innermost self."

"You're wrong about that, Hannibal," Will told him, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, fixing Hannibal with his blue gaze. "I've _always_ been good at hiding myself."

Hannibal nodded, admitting that this was true. Will _had_ always been very good at hiding his innermost self; his feelings had never been on outward display.

Perhaps this was a good thing. It was something that he could work with.

But only if Will gave himself over completely, and put all of his trust in him. That sort of trust wouldn't be easy to get, not from someone like Will, who was used to not trusting anyone.

Hannibal couldn't keep himself from smiling inwardly, a smile of satisfaction. It would indeed be a challenge to see if he could lead Will along the path that he was beginning to read, to mold and shape him into what he wanted the young man to become -- yet still retain some of that innocence even as his dark side emerged.

That would be an accomplishment indeed, Hannibal told himself. One that he could be proud of, both as a mentor and as a doctor. Will would be his greatest achievement.

"Yes, you have," he said, his voice very soft. "But you can't hide from me, Will."

Even as he said the words, a frisson of doubt tingled down his spine. _Could_ Will hide from him? Could he have gotten even more skilled at keeping his secrets hidden away?

But Hannibal pushed that doubt away, not bothering to countenance it. Will could never hide from him. And by the time he had conditioned Will to his satisfaction, he would never want to hide away again. The changes that he was going through now would become a part of him that he would want to share with Hannibal.

He wanted to share those changes with Will. He wanted to embrace them right along with his protégé, to celebrate them joyously when they took place.

Oh, yes, he looked forward to those changes more than he could say.

As he gazed into Will's blue eyes, Hannibal thought that he could see something in their depths, a flash of insight that made him wonder if Will was being completely truthful with him.

Whatever was hiding away behind that limpid gaze, it would come out eventually, he told himself. Will couldn't hide from him, as he had said. Soon, they would have no secrets from each other -- and no hiding away.


	12. When You Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal asks Will a question out of the blue that he finds very hard to answer.

"Have you ever considered leaving Wolf Trap, Will?"

The question was asked casually, but Will could sense that there was a deeper meaning behind it, as though Hannibal was looking for an answer that would shape the future.

He didn't know what to say; the truth was that he hadn't thought about leaving his home, not now that he was so well settled there and content with where he was.

What was Hannibal telling him? Was he dropping the hint that he knew the walls were closing in, and that he intended to run soon? And was he asking Will to come with him? There was no way to tell from that little nugget of information that Hannibal had just dropped.

He would have to do some probing, without seeming as though he was searching for information. Well, he could do that. It was one of the things a cop had to learn to be good at.

He'd always been good at searching out answers, but he had the tendency to be blunt with his questions. This time, he would have to tread more carefully, to hide his intentions.

That wasn't easy, especially when he was dealing with Hannibal.

Keeping things from this man was difficult; the charade that he had to put on was getting harder and harder. He couldn't help but feel that eventually, Hannibal would see through everything.

Still, he had to try. Will took a deep breath, thinking about what he had just been asked. Would he leave Wolf Trap and travel, or would he rather just stay here and do his job, content with where he was? To him, it was an easy question to answer, but he had to give the appearance of considering options.

"I hadn't really thought about it, but I guess it would be cool to travel a little," he said, choosing his words carefully and trying to err on the side of caution. "As long as I could come back home."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow a him, lips quirking in a smile.

"Home is not one singular place," he said, sounding as though he was quoting from a book. "It is wherever you choose to make it. Your home does not have to be in Wolf Trap."

What was he saying? Will wanted to simply ask, but he knew that if he did, he probably wouldn't get a straight answer. Hannibal would dance around whatever he was trying to say. That was his way, and it always had been. He wanted Will to think about what he was attempting to get across.

He wanted Will to come to his own conclusions, to reach the point that Hannibal was trying to make by himself, without having the meaning clarified for him.

"Are you saying that you plan on leaving Wolf Trap?" Will asked, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He hadn't meant to phrase what he wanted to say as a question, but it was out now.

Hannibal nodded, looking satisfied with what Will had asked him. "Yes, Will, I'm afraid that it will come down to making such a choice," he said, his voice quiet. "Did you really think that I could stay here, now that things have come to this pass? The scrutiny is becoming too much to bear."

Of course he had thought that Hannibal would choose to run at some point, but he hadn't thought that it would happen this soon. That hadn't fit in with his plans.

"Do you know where you're going to go?" There, that question seemed safe enough.

Hannibal shook his head, a small smile playing around his thin, nearly colorless lips. "No, I hadn't. Leaving is a decision that I've only made recently. I hadn't made any plans as of yet."

Good. If Hannibal hadn't made plans, then he didn't have a specific destination in mind, and that was obviously a plus. If they could catch him unawares, put him off balance, then they could possibly get a confession out of him. Though Will didn't think it would be that easy to trap him.

No, he'd discovered that getting Hannibal right where they wanted him was the hardest thing he'd ever attempted to do. The man was as slippery as a moray eel, and twice as sneaky.

But maybe, just maybe, this was an opening.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Will asked softly, focusing his gaze on Hannibal's face, the face that he'd come to hate more and more as each day passed.

Hannibal looked back at him, those dark eyes seeming to bore directly through him, trying to see through any subterfuge and drill to the core of his soul. Those eyes made him nervous, jumpy.

Hannibal nodded slowly, his gaze never wavering from Will's face. "Yes, I do, Will," he said, his voice soft and husky. "I may be leaving Baltimore sooner than I had hoped to, but plans have a way of changing. And I had always planned to ask you to come along with me when I left."

Will swallowed hard, at a loss as for what to say. What did this mean? And what was he supposed to say? He had no idea where to go from here.

He couldn't tell Hannibal that he would leave. He'd be expected to make plans to go, and he couldn't do that. Yet if he tried to prevaricate, Hannibal would guess that something was up.

He'd just have to play it by ear, and hope that he was doing the right thing.

"I hadn't really thought about leaving," he said slowly, trying to find the right words. "It's something I'd have to turn over in my mind. But I wouldn't want you to leave without me."

"I didn't think you would," Hannibal answered, his gaze still on Will. "You might have if I had asked you before .... all of this took place, but things have changed."

"Yes, they have." Will sighed softly, looking down and breaking the eye contact with Hannibal. He hated that this man seemed to be able to see into his soul; he didn't want Hannibal to determine just what was hidden there. If he did, then Will's life wouldn't be worth much. 

Somehow, he had to make Hannibal believe that he would go with him when he left. He had to take the chance that his deception hadn't been discovered, that his secrets were still safe.

He had to say what Hannibal wanted to hear. As much as he hated the words, as false as they would be, he had no choice but to keep playing this game that he'd begun.

It was all or nothing, and he had to lay his cards on the table.

"Take me with you when you leave," Will whispered, looking up again. "I don't want you to go without me. There's really nothing left for me here, is there? I should be with you."

There. He had forced the words out, knowing that they weren't true, and hoping that they sounded sincere. They rang false to his own ears, but hopefully, Hannibal wouldn't realize that. He hoped that to the man sitting across from him, the words sounded like a declaration, a commitment.

"I intend to," Hannibal told him, his voice barely above a whisper. "That is, _if_ you choose to come with me, Will. That is entirely up to you. I won't try to push you into it."

Will knew what his answer had to be. There was nothing else he could say.

Of course he didn't intend to go with Hannibal. There would be a trap set for this monster before he could leave, and it would be sprung. Will wouldn't have to go anywhere.

But he had to make this seem _real_. There was no better time than now to convince Hannibal of his sincerity, to make him believe that he had the acolyte he wanted. There was no better way than this for Will to convince him that he had, indeed, turned into just what Hannibal wanted him to be.

As much as he hated this monster who sat here looking at him as though he wanted to swallow Will's soul, he had to use this opportunity to make him believe that he was adored, looked up to.

He knew what he had to say, and he said it, false though it was.

"I'll go with you," he murmured, unable to look Hannibal in the eye again. If he did, he was sure that he other man would see his deception. "Take me with you when you go, wherever it might be."

"I will," Hannibal whispered, reaching across the table to lay his hand over Will's. In that moment, Will couldn't decide whether or not he'd sold his soul to the devil, or had it forcibly taken from him.


	13. The Seduction of Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will can't help but feel that Hannibal's madness is reaching out to him, beckoning him to become lost inside a darkness that he won't return from.

Hannibal was mad. He had to be. 

Will sighed softly, opening his eyes to look up at the ceiling above his bed. It was yet another night when sleep eluded him, when all he could think of was putting Hannibal behind bars.

The man wasn't sane. The hideousness of the Chesapeake Ripper murders was proof of that. Will wondered if someone who could do what he did had ever _been_ sane.

He didn't think so. He didn't think any mind that could produce the horrors that bespoke the Ripper murders could have ever come from a place of sanity and balance. And he was sure that Hannibal had only grown more insane over the years that he'd been practicing his grisly trade.

How could anyone who killed and _ate_ other people be classified as anything but insane? Will shuddered at the thought of what Hannibal had become.

And that bastard wanted Will to become just like him. That thought not only brought a shudder, but a sudden reflexive urge to vomit that he could hardly control.

Will closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths until the urge passed.

He wasn't going to lose control. So far, he had kept himself inside the parameters that he needed to stay in to pull off this deception, to make Hannibal believe that he was changing.

How much longer could he keep doing this? He was sure that he could feel himself becoming more seduced by what Hannibal seemed to offer him -- the chance to indulge all of his wildest fantasies with no consequences, to be able to do whatever he wanted without feeling that he had to pay for it.

That was madness in itself, thinking in that way. There were always consequences to any actions -- even if they didn't happen to fall on the perpetrator of those actions.

It was a madness that he didn't want to fall into.

Yet it was so seductive, the idea of being so completely free from his conscience. Hannibal insisted that it was what held him back, that he needed to rid himself of it.

But if he did, then he would become like Hannibal -- and that was the last thing he wanted, Will told himself firmly. He was _nothing_ like the monster he was trying to put behind bars.

Or was he? He couldn't deny that a part of him had wanted to kill Randall Tier; it hadn't just been about his own self-preservation. He hadn't really _enjoyed_ killing someone, but it _had_ made him feel free, in a strange way. It was disconcerting to realize that about himself.

He didn't want to be like Hannibal. He didn't want any part of himself to be linked to that monster; he didn't want to think of himself as a killer. He couldn't fall into that trap.

If he did, then he might start equating himself with Hannibal -- and he would be exactly where his so-called "mentor" wanted him to be, with the walls closing in around him.

The last thing he needed was to start thinking of himself in the way that Hannibal wanted him to -- and he was finding it harder and harder to avoid doing so. It was such a seductive path to take, and Hannibal knew exactly how to draw him down that path, beckoning him onward into a dark and frightening place.

Dark and frightening, yes .... but fascinating at the same time. A place where he could indulge himself, where he could let go of reality and be exactly what he wanted to be .....

No. _No_ , Will's mind screamed at him. That wasn't he wanted to be. He wasn't a killer. He wasn't like Hannibal. They weren't the same, not in any way.

Going down that path led to pure and utter madness.

Once he took the first few steps down that path, there would be no turning back. Will knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn't have the strength to turn back once those first few steps were taken. 

He knew that a part of him wanted to give in to that madness, and that was the side of himself that he had to struggle against. The side of himself that wanted to simply give in, to let everything flow over him easily, to not have to fight to withstand the dark side of his nature any longer.

He couldn't let himself do that. He was better than that, Will told himself firmly. He couldn't give in to that darkness; if he did, then Hannibal would win.

That could _never_ be allowed to happen, no matter what the cost.

He had to keep himself from falling into that seductive trap that Hannibal was trying to set for him. He couldn't let his guard down, even for one moment, for fear of losing himself.

The madness that wrapped itself around Hannibal was repugnant to him. Never in a million years would he want to succumb to that kind of madness. He'd kill himself first.

Will swallowed hard as that thought crossed his mind; ever since he'd put this daring plan into motion, he'd had dreams of killing himself, knowing that he couldn't possibly capture Hannibal, that something would go wrong, that he would be defeated. A part of him despaired of ever being the victor in this game.

But he couldn't let himself become discouraged. If he did, then he would make mistakes, and his life wouldn't be worth anything. Hannibal would snuff out that life in a second.

He wasn't about to let that happen. When he decided to go out, it would be in his _own_ way, or in the line of duty. It wouldn't be because a psychopath wanted it to happen.

He would see this through. He wouldn't give in, either to madness or despair.

Will could feel that madness reaching for him, trying to enfold hm, to turn him over and wrap him up like a fly caught in the sticky strands of a spider's web.

That madness wouldn't catch him up in its smothering grasp. He wouldn't let it. Though it might be hard to keep himself safely away from it due to his proximity to Hannibal, he would stay on his guard, and he wouldn't let himself be swept away by that seductive beckoning, no matter how tempting it might be.

Closing his eyes, Will turned over onto his side, trying to push his thoughts away and clear his mind. He needed to sleep so that he would be clear and focused when he saw Hannibal tomorrow.

But sleep wouldn't come easily for him tonight, or on any other night. 

He would be trying to avoid the seduction of madness, both in reality and in his dreams. Though in his dreams it was harder to avoid, the madness reaching out for him with enticing arms.

He wouldn't let himself be caught in its seductive coils, Will thought as sleep began to overcome him. Not this night, or any other. He would stay out of its grasp somehow, no matter what that might entail.


	14. In His Own Image

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is repulsed by the idea of being nothing more than a reflection of Hannibal's evil.

"Looking at you and seeing what you are becoming is one of the true pleasures of my life, Will," Hannibal said, looking at Will across the dinner table.

It was hard for him not to wince, hard for him to hide the repugnance that those words engendered in him, but Will knew that he had to manage to do so. He couldn't let Hannibal see how much he was despised, how much Will wanted to see him behind bars, locked away from society.

If he let Hannibal see how he really felt, then his plan to capture his nemesis would fall apart. And he couldn't let that happen. The plan _had_ to work.

So far, it was going well -- but Jack kept telling him that they were running out of time, and that he had to come up with some results soon. They couldn't simply keep hoping that Hannibal would trip up and reveal too much. Will had to _make_ him slip up.

That would be more easily said than done, Will thought sourly. It was almost as though Hannibal _knew_ what they were doing, and taunted him with silence.

Maybe tonight would be the night he would finally open up.

"Seeing you now is like looking at my own reflection," Hannibal said softly, and Will was startled to realize that there was actual emotion on the other man's face.

He hadn't thought that Hannibal was capable of real emotions -- after all, the man was a serial killer -- but maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe, against all the laws of nature and everything he knew about Hannibal, the man actually _did_ have some kind of softer feelings for him.

Or maybe he was simply imagining things, Will told himself firmly. That was the most likely explanation. No, he couldn't let himself believe that Hannibal actually _cared_.

He didn't want Hannibal to care about him. That would only complicate things.

As far as Will was concerned, everything he needed to know about Hannibal Lecter, he already knew. He didn't need to peel back any layers at this stage of the game.

He knew that Hannibal was a cold-blooded murderer. He knew more about this man than he had ever wanted to know, and he knew that the knowledge would haunt him for the rest of his life. He would always berate himself for ever thinking that Hannibal had been his friend.

How could he have ever believed that they were friends? How was it that he hadn't been able to see through Hannibal at the very beginning, that he hadn't known how evil this man was?

Was it because Hannibal had seemed to understand him, to see into him in a way that no one else ever had, or had even wanted to? Was it because he'd _needed_ a friend so badly?

The people around him had always pretended to be his friends, but the moment they'd thought that he was a killer, they had all backed away. The only person who hadn't done so was Beverly -- and she had paid for her friendship and loyalty with her life. Will owed her for that.

He had to put Hannibal in prison not just for Beverly's untimely death, but for all the other lives he had taken, all the other people that he had needlessly destroyed.

Hannibal was evil. And Will was _not_ his reflection.

The fact that this monster could think, even for a moment, that Will was _anything_ like him made his blood boil. He wanted to jump to his feet and deny those words as loudly as he could.

But he didn't have that luxury, Will told himself silently. He had to keep pretending that he was becoming what Hannibal wanted him to be, that he was indeed turning into a reflection of the evil that Hannibal represented. As much as he hated it, he had no choice in the matter.

He had to keep up this charade if he wanted his plan to work. And maybe if he managed to keep making Hannibal that he was giving in to his darker side, the bastard would finally expose himself for what he was.

He had to say something that would make Hannibal believe he was pleased.

But Will couldn't think of anything to say. There were no words to describe the depth of his repulsion, and certainly none that he could say to convey pleasure at Hannibal's statement.

Still, he had to say something. If he didn't, then Hannibal might realize how he _really_ felt -- and that would bring everything that he had worked so hard to put into motion crumble around him. He had to find some words that would make this monster think he wanted to be like him.

"I don't want to be just a reflection of you," he finally said, hoping that his words sounded sincere. "I want to be my own person. I don't want to disappear into you."

"You could never do that, Will." Hannibal's voice was firmer now, his gaze sharper. "You will always be your own man. I know that, and I'm proud of it. But I _do_ see myself in you, and that makes me even prouder. I believe that you are finally becoming the person you were always meant to be."

No, he wasn't, Will told himself, enraged and appalled by Hannibal's words. He wasn't meant to be a conscienceless murderer. He was _nothing_ like this monster he was listening to.

He would never let Hannibal make him into nothing more than an image of evil.

Clearing his throat, he nodded, knowing that he had to give some kind of indication that he was listening. He couldn't speak; if he did, all of his hatred would come out.

It seemed that Hannibal was satisfied with that; he gave Will a smile before raising his glass of wine, obviously expecting Will to do the same. Will slowly raised his glass and drank, hoping that he was still managing to play his role well and that Hannibal had no idea of what was really in his mind -- and in his heart.

Jack was right; they were running out of time. He had to bring this game to an end soon; if he didn't, then there was even more of a possibility that he'd be found out, and it would all blow up in his face.


	15. One Blade Shy of A Sharp Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will knows that he's dancing perilously close to danger, but he's determined to keep up his masquerade until he gets some sort of confession from Hannibal.

He was dancing on the edge of a very sharp knife, and he knew it.

Will knew that he couldn't keep up this charade for Hannibal much longer. Every day, he was sure that there were more cracks in his facade, that Hannibal would soon see through him.

He had to end this. He had to find a way to make Hannibal confess to a killing, any killing. That would give the FBI probable cause to search his house.

And once they did, they were sure to find something. He didn't doubt that for a moment. He knew that there were locked door in that house, doors that he was certain hid horrible things. He didn't want to know exactly what might reside there; he was afraid that it would shock even his sensibilities.

He was used to seeing horrible things, that was true. But he didn't know if he could take seeing those things and knowing that they'd been brought about by someone he'd once called a friend.

He certainly didn't think of Hannibal as a friend now, Will told himself, his lips twisting in a bitter parody of a smile. He hadn't done so for quite a while.

But at one time, he had. Hannibal had been the only person who'd understood him.

Or had that understanding all been faked? Had he ever _really_ understood, or had he only pretended to do so in order to get behind Will's walls, break down his defenses?

Of course that was what he had done, Will told himself firmly. Hannibal had never truly understood him, or cared about him. He'd been nothing more than an experiment; Hannibal had wanted to see just how far he could be pushed before he would snap. It was the same thing he was doing now.

Hannibal was trying to re-create Will in his own image, to transform him into the kind of conscienceless murderer that Hannibal himself was.

Hannibal was trying to turn him into something less than human.

He wouldn't allow that to happen. He wouldn't give in to what Hannibal wanted; he wouldn't become immersed in his own dark side. He wouldn't let evil, Hannibal's evil, take him over.

There were times when that darkness beckoned him with such a siren call, when it was hard to keep himself from moving towards it, from reaching out to touch it, just to see what it would be like. But so far, he'd managed to keep himself back, to ignore that seductive call.

But it was hard, he had to admit. He'd killed, and he'd actually _enjoyed_ it. He hadn't had any qualms about the murder of Randall Tier. In fact, he hadn't minded doing it.

The bastard had deserved killing, Will reminded himself. He had come to Will's house, tried to gain entry into his home, with the express purpose of murdering him.

What he'd done had been in self-defense -- but he couldn't deny the fact that a part of him, that darkness that lived within him, had reveled in the killing. A part of him had _wanted_ to kill Tier, and had taken pleasure in knowing that he was ending the man's life.

That had been a revelation in itself; that had been when he'd consciously taken a few steps back from the path that Hannibal was trying to lead him down.

It had been terrifying to discover that savagery within himself.

He had been dancing on that sharp blade for a long time, hadn't he? Even before he had killed Randall Tier, he had been reaching out towards that dark side of who he was.

Fortunately, he'd managed to keep himself from slipping too deeply into it, but Hannibal was trying his best to push him headlong into that darkness, without giving him a way to come back from it. He had to resist the call of that darkness, had to keep holding himself back from it.

Even if Hannibal placed a hand directly into the center of his back and pushed with all of his considerable strength, Will knew that he couldn't let himself tumble head first.

If he did, then he would be irrevocably lost within that darkness.

That was one thing he couldn't afford to let himself do. He couldn't reach out to that seductive darkness, couldn't indulge in it, couldn't let himself go, no matter how tempting it might be.

To do that would be to let Hannibal win. It would be to immerse himself in that darkness, to be what the other man had always wanted for him to be: A reflection of the evil that Hannibal embodied.

He wasn't going to become like Hannibal. The only reason he had enjoyed killing Randall Tier was because he had felt so helpless for so long when he was in prison; that killing had been an exorcism of sorts, letting out all of the rage and helplessness he'd been forced to endure.

He wouldn't do something like that again. He wouldn't give in to Hannibal's wishes. He would keep dancing on that blade, keep moving along that sharp edge without cutting himself.

It wasn't easy. It hadn't been easy from the beginning, and it was getting harder now that he was being drawn ever more deeply into Hannibal's world.

But he wouldn't give in. He would stick to his plan, and he would bring Hannibal to ruin.

He knew very well that he was only one blade shy of falling onto that sharp edge, of cutting himself fatally and letting himself bleed out until there was nothing left of who he was.

He'd be having dinner at Hannibal's place tonight. He was going to try to avoid eating as much as possible, as he had no idea what might be in the highly suspect "food" that Hannibal was preparing. But he was going to try his damnedest to get Hannibal to make some sort of confession.

That would involve dancing even further out onto the edge of that sharp blade, and Will was fully aware that he could get badly cut -- or fall from that blade into oblivion.

It was a risk he would have to take, whatever the consequences might turn out to be.


	16. How He Truly Feels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is rapidly growing tired of playing this cat-and-mouse game with Hannibal -- and he's running out of time to get a confession.

This was going to drive him insane.

If he wasn't already more than a little crazy, that is, Will thought grimly as he drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, waiting for Hannibal to come back into the room.

The other man had excused himself for a few moments; Will assumed that he was going to the bathroom, which was fine with him. It gave him some time to think.

How much longer could he keep up this charade? Not much longer, he told himself, wondering if tonight would be the night that he would slip up and show his contempt for Hannibal to the other man's face. He couldn't help feeling that it would happen sooner or later.

He _had_ to get some kind of confession out of Hannibal, and he had to do it soon .He was running out of time; the FBI wouldn't let him keep playing this cat-and-mouse game forever.

They expected results. They expected him to bring Hannibal in, to prove that his accusations against his former friend were correct. So far, he hadn't given them what they wanted.

And his accusations wouldn't hold up in a court of law.

Not if he couldn't prove them. So he had to keep this up for at least a little while longer -- and somehow, he had to get Hannibal to trust him enough to confess something.

It was getting harder and harder for him to keep this up, to act friendly to a man he hated, to act as though he trusted Hannibal and was falling under the spell of his charm and charisma.

Will felt a little as though he was lying down on the ground and making snow angels with the enemy, pretending to a camaraderie and friendship that he didn't feel with someone that he instinctively recoiled from. But he _had_ to do this if he wanted to get any kind of justice.

If he didn't do this, then he would never get any proof that Hannibal was indeed the Chesapeake Ripper. He was lucky that he was being given this chance to find that proof.

Jack believed him, and he was trying to do all that he could to ensure that Will had time to collect his proof. But even Jack couldn't keep the FBI at bay forever.

He was going to have to push things a little more, to bring this game to an end as quickly as he could. It felt as though everything was coming to a head soon; he felt that it would only take a little more pushing for Hannibal to finally say the words he needed to hear.

All he had to hear from this monster was some kind of confession to what he was, to just _one_ of the murders he had committed, just one of the atrocities he'd set into motion.

Once he had that, he wouldn't have to pretend to a friendship he didn't feel. He could show his loathing of Hannibal in every way, let this hideous abomination know how he truly felt.

That would be a red-letter day, Will thought with a grim smile.

He had long since tired of making snow angels with the enemy; he was tired of trying to put on this masquerade, tired of wearing a mask that was growing more uncomfortable every day.

Will longed to be able to rip that mask off, to show how he truly felt and be done with this whole nasty business. He wanted to have Hannibal behind bars, to put all of this in the past.

Hopefully, that would happen soon, he told himself. He looked down at his hands, realizing that he was clutching the chair arms so hard that his knuckles were white. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and forcing himself to relax. He couldn't afford to let Hannibal know how tense he was.

He could hear footsteps in the hallway; the other man would be back in just a few seconds, and he had to appear calm and composed, as though nothing was wrong.

How much longer could he keep this up? Will asked himself. As long as he had to, was the answer. He had no other choice, not if he wanted to achieve his goal.

He was getting closer to that goal every day. Just a little while longer ....

He'd try to push a little more tonight, to trick Hannibal into saying what he needed to hear. If he couldn't do it tonight, then he'd manage it in their next sessions.

Then, when he had the proof that he needed, he could turn his back, wash his hands of Hannibal, and walk away. The day when he would be able to do that couldn't come soon enough.


	17. Earning His Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trust has to be earned, and there's one way for Hannibal to earn Will's.

Will watched Hannibal as the other man took a seat across from him.

"So, Will, what shall we talk about tonight?" Hannibal inquired, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. "I'm open to discussing anything you like."

"What's on _your_ mind, Hannibal?" Will countered, trying not to sound too eager. He didn't need to give this man the impression that he wanted to get inside _his_ head for a change.

"Will, this is _your_ session, not mine," Hannibal protested with a small smile. "You are the one who tells me about your feelings, and we talk about what is on _your_ mind. You may not be my patient officially, but I believe that you are more in need of therapy than ever."

"After what you did to me, yes, I probably am," Will admitted, his own smile thin and fleeting. "You know it was wrong, Hannibal. You need to admit that."

"Perhaps it was wrong in the eyes of the world, but not in what I am trying to do for you." Hannibal's voice was strong, firm. "I am trying to rebuild you, Will."

"In your image." Will's voice was flat, emotionless. "I know that."

"You have to trust me, Will," Hannibal said softly. "You must believe that I have only the best of intentions. I want to set you free. I believe that is best for you."

 _Yeah, sure you do,_ Will told himself. _You want to turn me into a carbon copy of yourself, so I can become the same kind of monster you are. Not on your life, buddy. We might all have good and evil inside us, but in me, the good wins out. I'm nothing like you._

But aloud, he only said, "I'm still not sure about that, Hannibal. You have yet to completely win my trust. I'm working ot it, but it's going to take some time."

Hannibal nodded, looking unruffled by Will's words -- even pleased.

"I understand that, Will," he said. "I did not expect you to trust me -- or to trust that I have the best intentions for you -- so soon. I know that trust takes time. It must be earned."

Well. He hadn't expected _that_ from Hannibal. He'd thought that Hannibal would demand trust from him, that he would have to prevaricate and say that he trusted Hannibal to a point -- which he most decidedly did _not_ \-- or make up some incident that might gain Hannibal his trust.

When Hannibal was at his most pleasant and charming, Will knew that was when he was least to be trusted. He'd given Hannibal his trust before, and look where it had gotten him.

He wasn't going to be so stupid again. Hannibal counted on that, counted on him being trusting and unwary. He knew better now. He'd learned his lesson well.

He knew that there was nothing trustworthy about Hannibal, and nothing decent about his motives. This man was evil to the core; there was nothing about him that was good or honest. WIll knew that he'd been a fool to trust Hannibal in the past, but fortunately, that past was behind him.

He was going to make this man give him some kind of confession about what he was. He was going to be the victor in this game, the most important game of his life.

Hannibal had won last time. He wouldn't win again.

Will knew that he could never trust this man again, no matter what Hannibal might protest to the contrary. He'd been foolish to do so before, to his own detriment.

It was the hardest thing in the world for him not to jump to his feet, fists clenched, and tell this monster directly to his face how much he was hated. But he couldn't afford to do that; he had to be discreet, had to be careful. Right now, Hannibal still had the deck stacked in his favor.

But all it would take was one little slip, Will told himself. One small mistake, and Hannibal would fall into his hands. He counted on this man making that mistake.

Sooner or later, Hannibal would slip up. 

He hoped that it would be sooner; he was running out of time, and he knew it. Jack and the FBI would only wait so long before they'd give up on Will's plan.

He _had_ to get that confession, had to make Hannibal trust him enough to let his true intentions be made known. He just had to get an admission of even _one_ crime Hannibal had committed.

That wasn't going to be easy. He'd known it ever since he had formulated this plan in his mind. But somehow, he'd do it. He had no choice now. He was too far into the game to give up. He didn't want to pull back and try to find some other way of bringing this monster to justice.

So he merely nodded in response to Hannibal's words, forcing himself to relax back into his chair. "Yeah, you have to earn my trust again. It might take a while."

Hannibal nodded, looking serious. "I realize that, Will. And I am prepared to earn your trust. Simply tell me what I must do, and I'll try my best."

Well. That was definitely lobbing the ball back into his court, wasn't it?

The truth was, he didn't exactly know what to tell Hannibal about winning his trust. How was he supposed to do that without giving his real feelings away?

And then .... it came to him. The perfect way to get a confession, and to convince Hannibal that he needed to do all that he could to earn Will's trust. It was so simple. Why hadn't he thought of it before? It would have made this pretense a lot easier -- and a lot shorter.

Leaning forward, he fixed Hannibal with a steady gaze. "Tell me all about what you are, and why. If I'm going to become the image of you, I need to just what I'm going to be."

He waited, holding his breath, wondering what Hannibal would say next.

The other man's words came slowly, as though he was picking and choosing them carefully. Words that Will needed to hear, words that he hoped would give him the evidence he needed.

"All right, Will. I suppose that you _do_ deserve to know just what you're meant to become. It's time that you knew all about me .... and why I am who and what I am."

That was what he had needed to hear. Exactly those words.

Now, it just remained to be seen if Hannibal would follow through on them.


	18. The Deepest Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that he has the information he needs, Will knows that he'll have no problem betraying Hannibal's secrets.

"I am making you privy to all of my secrets, Will. I trust you with them."

If only Hannibal knew that trusting _him_ wasn't the wisest thing for him to do, Will told himself, almost wincing at the other man's words.

He was going to betray Hannibal's trust -- and he wouldn't have the slightest compunction about doing so. He knew it was the right thing to do, in this case.

Ordinarily, he was a man who would never betray a confidence. But the man who was sitting across from him preparing to confess his sins, to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets, was someone who had killed untold numbers of people. A cold-blooded murderer.

And he was going to confess to those murders, or at least some of them. He was going to give WIll exactly what he needed to put him behind bars for the rest of his life.

Will was almost surprised to realize that he didn't feel any sympathy for Hannibal, that he had absolutely no regrets over what he knew he would do once Hannibal had spoken.

This was his revenge. And it would taste sweet.

"I don't generally tell anyone my secrets, Will," Hannibal told him, looking directly into his eyes. "But I feel that I can trust you. You deserve to know about me."

Will nodded, the movement barely perceptible. He realized that he was holding his breath in anticipation of just what Hannibal would say; he let it out in an audible rush.

Hannibal sighed, then took a deep breath. "I am indeed the killer you've been searching for, Will," he said, his voice very soft. "I am the Chesapeake Ripper. And yes, I _did_ frame you for the murders. But not to cause you to spend your life in jail, or to lose that life. To tear you down and build you back up again."

"Why would you want to tear me down?" Will asked softly, though he was sure that he already knew the answer. This monster sitting here in front of him had wanted to make him weak, dependent.

Hannibal wanted him to be remade in his own image, to become the same kind of mosnter that he was. Will would never allow that. He would _never_ become so twisted, so reprehensible.

How could Hannibal have ever thought that his plan would work? How could he have ever thought that Will would be so weak, so biddable? But it was easy to see why he'd thought that, Will told himself. Hannibal had thought that he'd fallen under the spell of his charm, that he was mesmerized.

Well, maybe he had been, for a while. But that had quickly ended once he'd been able to clear his head and had time to think about all that had happened.

Once he had figured out what Hannibal had done and how he'd done it, the only thing he felt for this monster was revulsion. No friendship had been left.

Friends didn't do what Hannibal had done to him.

Friends didn't want to see other friends become nothing more than a carbon copy of themselves. Friends prized you for your own qualities, and didn't want you to take on theirs.

Hannibal was speaking to him again, drawing his attention out of his thoughts and back to the present. WIll had to chide himself silently for not pay more close attention.

"This is the deepest secret that no one has ever known, Will," he was saying, his voice so soft that it was the barest of whispers in the quiet room. "I am trusting you with this secret now, because you are a part of it. Becasue I want you to hold it to yourself, and know that it is what you're meant for."

What he was meant for? Will had to struggle to keep the distaste he felt from showing on his face. He would _never_ be a conscienceless killer. Never.

Yet that was exactly what Hannibal beleived he was turning into. He was so sure that he had power and control over Will that he had made the fatal mistake of letting his guard down.

And Will intended to take full advantage of that mistake.

He had to keep the satisfaction from showing on his face, had to pretend that he was listening to Hannibal and taking in all that he said with the avidity of a pupil listening to their teacher.

He had what he needed now. He could go to Jack with what he was hearing from Hannibal, and within hours, this man would be arrested and languishing behind bars.

It was what he wanted, what he had wanted ever since he himself had been behind those selfsame bars, thinking that he might never be able to prove his innocence and taste freedom again. But this time, the situations would be reversed, and Hannibal would be the one to feel that hopelessness.

"You are privy to my deepest secrets now, Will," Hannibal told him, his voice grave. "No one knows them but you, and I have trusted you with them. Do not betray that trust."

Will shook his head, not speaking, hoping that the movement would suffice and make Hannibal believe that he was agreeing to those words.

He wasn't about to say that he would do as Hannibal asked.

Once he was out of here, he would go directly to Jack Crawford, and that betrayal would be well under way. By the time Hannibal discovered what he had done, he would be a prisoner.

WIll sincerely hoped that this was the last time he would ever have to sit across from Hannibal and talk with him. This was a position he didn't ever want to be in again.


	19. Candles in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will isn't allowed to take part in Hannibal's arrest, so he seeks sanctuary -- and healing -- in a church.

Jack didn't want him to be there when Hannibal was captured.

Everyone else he worked with would be there, at Hannibal's home, arresting him. They would be leading him out of the house in handcuffs, on the way to jail.

Will had done what he had needed to do -- he'd gotten that confession from Hannibal, which had given the FBI probable cause to search his house thoroughly.

Will didn't know what they would find, but he could guess. He was sure that the visuals would be something out of his wildest dreams -- and worst nightmares. He didn't really want to see them, didn't want to know the extent of what a man he'd once considered his friend could be capable of doing.

He wished that he could simply shut his eyes to everything -- but he couldn't. He was still a part of this, as much as he didn't want to be.

 _He_ was the one who had brought Hannibal down. He hadn't done it single-handedly, of course, but he had been the catalyst, the one with the plan.

He'd put that plan into motion, and it had yielded results.

He didn't doubt that Hannibal would hatch plots against him, didn't doubt that the other man would simmer with the need for revenge. He had made a lifelong enemy.

That didn't really seem to matter at this point, though. Maybe he and Hannibal had always been enemies, and the uneasy friendship that had developed had been an illusion. He'd never felt completely comfortable with the man, not even at the beginning.

Had it really come as a shock to find out that Hannibal had been using him as a kind of experiment, that he'd been no more than a pawn in a psychopath's deadly game?

The fact of how he'd been used still made him shudder.

Hannibal had literally given him a potentially fatal disease, simply to find out how far he could be pushed. He could have _died_ , and his so-called friend hadn't cared about that.

That monster had never truly been his friend. He knew that now. A friend wouldn't have framed him for murder -- and attempted to make him doubt himself.

The worst of it was that he had _almost_ believed he'd killed Abigail -- before those dreams, or visions, or whatever they were, had set him straight. He had started to think that he _was_ a murderer, that he either belonged in prison, or dead. Hannibal had nearly made him give up all hope.

He'd almost fallen into that deadly trap. But he had managed to climb up those steep walls, had managed to extricate himself from Hannibal's evil before he'd gone under.

But it had been a narrow escape. One that he was grateful for. Fortunately, he'd had the presence of mind, and the good sense, to listen to his better judgment.

Jack had told him, very firmly, that his part in this was done, that he should keep himself occupied during the time that the FBI would be taking Hannibal into custody. So he had come here, to this church, to seek some kind of peace of mind, though he'd know that he wouldn't find what he was looking for.

He wasn't even Catholic, Will thought with a grimace. Why had he felt that he would find any kind of succor here? It had been a ridiculous idea.

But still, he _did_ feel calmer -- and for some strange reason, he felt safe within the confines of these walls. He felt as though no evil could touch him while he was here.

Of course, that wasn't true. Hannibal's evil knew no boundaries.

Here, he could feel safe, protected. Will wasn't sure just why he felt the need to be here at this moment, but it was enough for him to know that he did.

He'd lit two candles and put them where a lot of others were, on the altar at the front of the church. He didn't really know what his candles were meant to signify, but it felt right to put them there, to watch them begin to burn down. It felt right for him to sit here as afternoon turned into early evening.

Light turning to dark, day giving way to night. Those candles shone through the dark, giving him a sense of warmth and light, even though he was sitting a few feet away from them.

Still, the illusion of warmth was comforting, something he needed right now.

Time passed, the shadows in the church lengthening. Still Will sat there, watching the candles he'd lit burn down, their light flickering in the growing darkness.

He didn't know why he felt so reluctant to leave; maybe it was because he would have to go back to a situation he'd much rather be completely done with when he left this sanctuary.

He would have to testify in court, of course. And he knew that when he did, Hannibal's dark gaze would be boring into him as though that monster was seeing through him to his very soul, as though he was being judged and somehow found wanting, as though he had failed some sort of test.

Well, in Hannibal's eyes, he _had_ failed. Hannibal had wanted him to become something monstrous, to follow in his footsteps like a carbon copy.

He would never have done that, especially not after he'd realized just what Hannibal was. He would have run as far from that as he could get, never surrendering to Hannibal's wishes.

In the end, that was just what he had done.

He'd run here, to this sanctuary, where he could light candles in the dark and feel safe and protected. But that time of sanctuary was passing quickly; he couldn't stay here for much longer.

He would have to go back out into the real world, face what he had caused to happen, and come out on the other side. He would do that, and even though he might be forever bruised and scorched by the experience, he would emerge from it the victor. He would have slain his demons.

That was what he'd have to take with him from this whole horrible experience, Will told himself firmly as he got to his feet. The fact that he'd made it through in one piece.

He had fought his battles, and he'd not only survived, but emerged the stronger for it.

Will took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as he headed for the door of the church and turning his back on the candles that he'd left burning on the altar.

He'd needed this time alone, time to try to settle his thoughts, but now he had to return to the world -- and to the end of the story that he had to see through to its bitter end.


	20. Be My Downfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has been Hannibal's downfall -- but he can't help but wonder if Hannibal is also his own.

Will sat outside Hannibal's cell, staring at the other man.

This was disconcerting. It reminded him far too much of the times that he had spent in Hannibal's home, with this man acting as his psychiatrist.

It was too much like all of the times that they had sat in chairs across from each other, and Hannibal had waited patiently for WIll to spill some secret, and then discuss it.

He didn't have to give up any more secrets. This man wasn't his doctor any more; Hannibal was now a prisoner, here in a jail cell for the rest of his life, convicted of horrible crimes against humanity. And Will had been the one to supply the proof that had finally brought him to justice.

He should be proud of that. He should take satisfaction in the knowledge that he had been the downfall of a merciless killer, someone who _should_ be behind bars.

But a part of him would always feel guilty in some ways, even though he knew that he had done what was right. He had sacrificed the one for the good of the many.

Hannibal deserved to be here, and he knew it.

Still, a part of him grieved for the lost friendship that he knew he would never have again. No one would ever understand him the way that Hannibal had.

No one would ever look at him in the way that Hannibal did, as though he was some priceless work of art, as though his singular abilities made him something special and wondrous, not just some kind of freak of nature to be exploited and thrown away when he was no longer useful.

Hannibal had always seen him as someone to be prized, someone to be nurtured and teasured. He had just wanted to nurture the wrong aspects.

He sighed softly, finally lifting his head to look into Hannibal's eyes.

He'd expected to see pure hatred there, an acknowledgement of the fact that it had been Will who had put the other man here, behind bars that he could never break free of.

But there was only a deep sadness, a look of regret, on Hannibal's features. Will hadn't expected to see that; he also hadn't expected to see the slow smile that spread over Hannibal's face. What could this man possibly find to smile about? he asked himself. There was nothing good about his situation.

"I should have known that you would be my downfall, Will," Hannibal murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "You seem to have won this round of our little game."

Game? Hannibal thought of all the murders he'd committed, the struggle that Will had been through to prove once and for all that Hannibal was a killer, as nothing more than a _game_?

He had to remind himself that Hannibal wasn't in touch with his emotions, that he had no empathy for other people, or any kind of respect for human life. He had to keep telling himself that Hannibal wasn't like other people, and that he didn't look at experiences like a normal human being would.

"I wish things could have been different," Will finally said, knowing that his words weren't entirely true. "But what you are made that impossible, Hannibal. You know that."

The other man merely shrugged, his smile still fixed in place.

Will was sure that Hannibal wasn't as nonchalant as he appeared to be; he didn't doubt that this man would plot against him in any way he could, even from a prison cell.

"I had thought that you would become my protégé, Will," Hannibal told him, leaning forward slightly from where he sat. "But you are not the person I was led to believe that you were. It was very clever of you to keep your plans hidden so well. I must admire you for that."

Will didn't know what to say; he was taken aback by Hannibal's words. He hadn't expected this; he had thought that Hannibal would threaten him in some way.

Or maybe this was meant to be an oblique, disguised threat.

He knew that he couldn't trust Hannibal, not even for a moment. There was nothing good or benevolent about this man. Hannibal was a killer through and through.

If the man sitting in front of him, behind those thick bars, had harbored any feelings of friendship towards him at one time, they had to be completely obliterated at this point.

Had Hannibal always known that Will would be his downfall, or had he discounted the possibility that he wouldn't be able to turn the man he'd tried so hard to control into what he'd wanted him to become? Will couldn't help but wonder if Hannibal had ever had those illusions.

He should have known that light would always triumph over darkness, Will told himself. He should have known that his evil wouldn't always have its freedom.

But no, Hannibal's hubris had been his real downfall. He'd thought that he could keep Will under his control -- and he had paid the price for having too much pride.

That price had been steep indeed, but he deserved to be where he was.

Will got to his feet, not wanting to say anything else, but feeling that he had to direct just one question at Hannibal, even though he knew there would be no answer.

"If you knew that I would be your downfall, then why did you even try to turn me into a carbon copy of yourself?" he asked, looking directly at the other man. "You knew that you would never win me over. And I don't think I ever fooled you for a second into believing that you were."

"That you didn't, Will," Hannibal told him, shaking his head. "I knew that it would come to this. But don't make the same mistake that I did, of having too much pride."

Will stared at him for a moment, then turned his back and walked away.

He could hear Hannibal's soft laughter following him, and he was sure that he could hear words that hadn't been spoken echoing in his mind, words that Hannibal had said to him in one of their sessions.

_"Pride goeth before a fall, Will. And there are some falls that can be much harder than others, though they may take longer to take place. They will ultimately happen."_

The memory of those words made him shudder.

Maybe he was destined to be Hannibal's downfall -- but Hannibal might be his, as well.


	21. Shreds of Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though he's been the winner of their cat-and-mouse game, Will knows that there will always be some lingering regrets for what might have been.

He didn't want to think about the words that had followed him as he'd left Hannibal.

Will shoved his hands into his pockets as he strode through the park, breathing the crisp air deeply into his lungs and hoping that it would invigorate him.

He still felt as though he were in something of a dream world, a world that didn't seem quite real, a misty haze all around him. He felt as though he was swimming through thick, heavy syrup.

He didn't want to think about those words, the last words that Hannibal would probably ever say to him. He didn't want to think about the truth behind them, the way they cut into his consciousness, like a knife that sliced through his guts and spilled them out for all the world to see.

 _"Now you've made your choice, and you're going to regret it forever."_ Will knew that those words would stay in his head for the rest of his life.

They were burned into his mind; they would never go away. And they were indeed true. He would always feel some regrets over the choice that he'd made.

But what choice had he been given, really? There had been no choice at all.

If he hadn't tried to stop Hannibal, to put him behind bars, more innocent people would have died. And he would have _known_ what Hannibal was doing.

That would have made _him_ complicit in the murders. He wouldn't have been as guilty of them as Hannibal was, but he would still have been a part of it.

Will didn't want that on his conscience. He didn't want to believe that he could have turned his back on what Hannibal was doing, that he could have let such a monstrous killer go on taking the lives of innocents. Hannibal believed that he would have done so, but Will knew better.

Hannibal hadn't really bought his act. He knew that now. He should have realized that was the case when he was in the throes of it. He should have known that he wasn't that good an actor.

But still, he'd been the winner of their cat-and-mouse game in the end, hadn't he? He was free, and Hannibal was the one who'd ended up behind bars for the rest of his life.

Why didn't he get the satisfaction that should be his with that knowledge? Why was there this small kernel of regret hidden somewhere deep within him, a regret that he'd had to use such wiles to defeat Hannibal? If the tables had been turned, he knew that his adversary would have no regrets at all.

That was the difference between himself and Hannibal. He could weigh his choices, make what he knew was the right decision, and still be human enough to feel some guilt.

Hannibal didn't have that kind of compassion within him. The only thing he understood was satisfying his own desires, and to hell with anyone who got in the way of that satisfaction.

Hannibal was a monster. Will wasn't. It was as simple as that.

He'd had no other choice but to turn Hannibal in to the authorities. Anyone with any decency would have done so; he'd just done it in a roundabout way, that was all.

What did it matter? Will told himself with a soft sigh. He had achieved his aim; he'd been the winner in their deadly game, in the end. Hannibal was where he belonged, and where he would stay.

But there would always be that little trickle of regret, a fervent wish that things could have been different, that Hannibal hadn't been the monster he was and that there could have been something more between them. A part of him would always wonder if that could have been.

No, it couldn't have, he told himself firmly, pushing that regret down and slamming a door closed on it. Hannibal was a monster, a murderer, and he wasn't going to change.

There was no use thinking about what couldn't be. He couldn't change the past, and he'd done what he had to do. That was all. It was over and done.

Though the shreds of regret would always linger at the edges of his mind.


End file.
